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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847964">Cellophane</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreculturelesspop/pseuds/moreculturelesspop'>moreculturelesspop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always Female Dean Winchester, Blood, F/M, Female Dean Winchester, Male Castiel/Female Dean Winchester, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:15:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreculturelesspop/pseuds/moreculturelesspop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your child has already passed.” She knows it, she knows that her body is empty.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cellophane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CW for graphic miscarriage scenes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She looks at the pale pink line on the pregnancy stick. She’s been looking at it for five minutes. It won’t change the result. She buries her face into the wheel and screams. There is no one around in the parking lot. It’s 2 AM, why should they be there. She screams until her throat hurts. She hits the wheel until her hands hurts.</p><p>She doesn’t hear the fluttering of wings, but she suddenly senses someone in the passenger seat. “Jesus, Cas. You can’t just creep up on a woman like that.”</p><p>“My apologies, Deanna,” he says. He’s staring at her, down her rib cage, towards her belly.</p><p>“You need to buy me dinner before you can look at me like that,” she quips, feeling nausea in my back of her throat.</p><p>“You’re carrying a child.”</p><p>“What’s it to you?” she snaps back.</p><p>“I believe it is customary to say congratulations.” She snorts out a laugh in response.</p><p>“Yeah, I always primal scream in joy.” She can’t help but laugh bitterly. She laughs so hard she’s worried she won’t be able to stop.</p><p>“You don’t want this child?” he asks, with a head tilt.</p><p>“Oh no,” she sarcastically replies. “I always wanted to have a baby in the middle of the apocalypse with a man I met in some bar.”</p><p>“You are being sarcastic?” She dives her head back into the steering wheel before she starts to cry.</p><p>“Cas, I fucked up,” she mutters. When she lifts her head up, he’s gone.</p><p>She’s lucky she doesn’t have all the terrible pregnancy side effects. No morning sickness, no tiredness, no cravings. Her breasts are sore and her sense of smell is a little intense, all easy to hide from Sam. She’s lucky his rabbit food has no smell and no taste. In fact, she struggles to sleep, which is the opposite to most pregnancy leaflets she has collected since taking that goddamn test.</p><p>Sam is snoring in the adjacent bed as she lays wide awake. She splays her hand on her flat belly and wishes her problem away. She didn’t want to make this decision. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t strap a baby on her back and hunt down the devil, like her dad would have done. But she had made her lifelong mission to save innocent, not kill them because she was stupid enough to forget to use protection.</p><p>She grabs a beer from the fridge and takes a seat outside the motel, on the little porch by the door. “You shouldn’t stalk women in the dark,” she tells the shadowy figure in the trench coat to her left.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be drinking that,” he says. She shrugs, she knows.</p><p>“I’m testing to see if this pregnancy thing will stick.” Her body is healed and new, she knows that Cas did that, every scratch and scar gone. There is no reason her body can’t carry her child, the only reason it can’t is her own stupidity.</p><p>“You will be a good mother.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I want to be one, not again,” she tells her. He looks at her confused and she further explains, “I never had a childhood, I had to look after Sam, make sure he was fed and went to school. I can’t do it again.”</p><p>“I understand,” he says, before placing a strong hand on her back.</p><p>She doesn’t know what to do, so she carries on life as normal, hoping nature will make the choice for her. She limits her junk food and booze intake, scared it would make her put weight on quicker. The hunts aren’t any easier, the drives no less longer. She doesn’t feel different, she doesn’t look different, she just hates the smell garlic and onions.</p><p>She feels the first cramp after dealing with a haunting, she just blames the pain on the fall to the floor to duck from the incoming statue being thrown at her. She’s in a diner bathroom when she sees the spot of dried brown blood in her panties. She shrugs it off, it was normal to have some blood, she had read somewhere.</p><p>The second time she sees blood, she’s in a motel and Sam has gone to buy groceries. The stain is bright red and violent. “No, hey, I change my mind, I do want you,” she gasps. She places her hand on her still flat belly, “I take it back, I’m sorry, I want you. Stay.”</p><p>“Dee,” Cas says, knocking on the door. He opens the door before she can fully pull her panties and jeans up. “You are in distress.”</p><p>“I’m bleeding,” she gasps. He’s looking over her for a bleeding cut. “The baby, I think I’m losing it.” He walks towards her and she takes a step back, until she’s pushed up against the bathroom sink, and places a hand on her belly. She feels the warm tingle of his grace running through her atoms.</p><p>“They are alive,” he tells her. She lets out the breath she had been holding in. She leans her head against Cas’ shoulder in relief and she feels him stiffen under her touch.</p><p>After that day, she buys prenatal vitamins, stops drinking alcohol and tries to not get punched in the middle during hunts. She'll tell Sam soon. Maybe when she starts to show (which she doesn't yet, she looks exactly the same). </p><p>Less than a month later she feels like she is being stabbed in the belly. It’s the worst period cramp she has ever felt. There is no doubt what is happening to her body. She looks for the nearest motel, not caring where they were supposed to be going.</p><p>“I don’t feel well,” she snaps at Sam when he asks why they were stopping. She books a separate room, telling Sam she didn’t want to pass her illness over to him. Her panties are soaked through with blood, it has smeared down her thighs and into her jeans. She changes her panties and places the biggest sanitary pad she can find in her luggage in the black cotton.</p><p>She sits on the toilet in the grimy motel bathroom and feels the blood leaking in the bowl. Her body feels so tired. It had failed her again. Her belly is crampy and feels hard to the touch “Cas, I, I,” she doesn’t finish her sentence, she can’t finish her sentence. Instead, she gulps back tears as her body cramps up.</p><p>“Deanna,” a voice, solemnly says. She lets out a choke in response. “Are you in pain?”</p><p>“Cas, can you save it?” she mutters. He squats down in front of her and places her hand on her tight belly.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at her solemnly. “Your child has already passed.” She knows it, she knows that her body is empty.</p><p>“Do something,” she growls. He turns around to face the bathroom door and shakes his head.</p><p>“I can’t. I’m sorry.” She stands up and pulls her panties up, ignoring the discarded jeans on the floor.</p><p>“Do something!” she repeats, even louder.</p><p>“I can’t,” he softly repeats. She uses all her force to turn him around.</p><p>“What good are you!” she screams. “Do something! Do something good! ” She screams. She’s pulling at his jacket in desperation, tears rolling down her eyes. She beats his chest, screaming at him to save her child. He lets her hit him, taking each pounding and insult.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says when she finally falls into his arms. He awkwardly wraps his arms around her and pats her back. “I’ll get Sam.”</p><p>“No,” she cries, clinging onto his lapels.</p><p>“What can I do?” </p><p>“Stay.” His arms unwrap from around her, and she feels his body tensing up. She thinks he’s about to flap off to wherever he flaps off to, but he doesn’t move.</p><p>“You should get some rest,” he says instead. She lets go of him and nods. She tries to take a step forward, towards the bed but instead finds herself clinging onto the door frame in pain. She sinks to the floor in pain.  He crouches down and places a hand on her shoulder. “You are in pain.”</p><p>“No shit, Sherlock,” she snaps, doubling over in agony.</p><p>“Let me,” he says, moving the hand to her belly.</p><p>“No,” she says, slapping his hand away. “I don’t want it to disappear. I, I need to feel this.”</p><p>“I understand” he replies. “Let me ease the pain a bit.” She nods and lets him place his hand on her empty stomach. The warmth of his grace eases the cramps and nearly eliminates the back pain. He sits down on the floor beside her and she slowly finds herself leaning into him. His body is oddly room temperature, neither too warm nor too cold. He smells like an ocean breeze, with a hint of Pantene shampoo.</p><p>“He knew I didn’t want him,” she quietly murmurs. She rests her head on his shoulder, noticing that he didn’t breathe. “He knew. I didn’t mean it.” It’s he, in all her dreams it was a he.</p><p>“Forming life is complicated, things can go wrong. One of my father’s downfalls, I’m afraid. You did nothing wrong.”</p><p>“I drunk, I hunted, I didn’t sleep, I ate crap,” she lists. A huge stabbing pain hits her and she grabs out for his hand. Embarrassed, she quickly pulls away from his touch, but he takes her hand back and places it on his lap. He uses this touch to ease some of her pain.</p><p>She ends up sliding down his side in pain, and her head falling onto his lap. Her legs stretch out before her, blood pooling on the dirty tiles. Her child deserved a better place to die. If she was alone she might have sobbed or punched the tiles, but in Cas’ company, she couldn’t let go. Instead, she lays her face on his thigh and cries slow and silent tears. Her body is contracting and clotting, she has no control over what is happening. Cas’ hand sits awkwardly on her back, occasionally patting it.</p><p>She doesn’t think she’d feel the exact moment her baby left her body, but she does. She sits upright so quickly her head spins. She yanks down her panties, not caring who will see her privates (he did build her, so surely he knew what she looked like naked?). There was a little balloon shape lump sitting in the blood-drenched panty liner. “Is that it?” she murmurs.</p><p>“It looks very small. I believe it passed some weeks ago.” She cradles the little sac in her hands, ignoring the other jelly-like clots around it.</p><p>“I’m sorry. You deserved better. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Dee,” Cas starts.</p><p>“Don’t,” she snaps. She didn’t want to hear it, no sympathies, no ‘it’s not your faults’, no promises of another child in the future. “I couldn’t keep him safe. I failed him.” She finally lets go, sobbing into her hands. She doesn’t know if the pain has eased, Cas was working overtime or the shock of her miscarriage had numbed the pain. She looks down to see her panties magically clean, the blood celestially gone. She looks at Cas but he is looking down at his lap, hands clenched together on his knees. “What happens now?”</p><p>“You rest,” he solemnly says.</p><p>“I want to bury him.”</p><p>“I understand. You should get some rest.” She nods, feeling spent. She doesn’t know how long it’s been or what time it is, but her body is ready to sleep. He helps her off the floor, trying not to slide on the bloody messy she has left behind.</p><p>“Don’t flush him,” she begs.</p><p>“I know,” he replies, holding onto her arms to keep her steady. Her back is stiff and her legs wobbly.</p><p>She happily climbs into bed, not bothering to get under the sheets. “Will you stay?” she murmurs.</p><p>“Of course,” he says, she doesn’t believe but appreciates the lies. He sits down in the chair in the corner of the room.</p><p>“No,” she murmurs into the pillow. She hits the bed beside her. It wasn’t quite a double, but it wasn’t the smallest single she had crept a guy into. She feels the bed dip with his weight. She falls in and out of sleep throughout the night, his hand occasionally on her waist when she passed the last of the clots. Light comes through the windows, the curtains not drawn, but she still doesn’t get up. There’s a knock on the door, the world outside coming alive with motel guests and cars honking.</p><p>“I don’t think she should hunt with you today,” she hears Cas say. She has her back to the door, the sheets celestially cleaner than they should be. Cas has tucked the sheet around her and then draped his trench over her body.</p><p>“Is she okay?” Sam asks.</p><p>“She suffered a miscarriage last night.” She hears Sam swear and then the door closes, she peeks around and both men have stepped outside to finish the conservation.</p><p>
  <em>There is a boy with green eyes, freckles and the floppy hair she mocked Sam for having as a kid. He’s stood across her in the motel parking lot. “Mom,” he says, angrily. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, kid!” she shouts back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You got me killed! You always get them killed. You should be dead. Not me. Not Grandma. Not Grandad. It should be you in the ground!” he shouts. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to!” she sobs, falling to her knees. The kid smirks at her, his eyes almost black with anger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, you did. All you think about is yourself. You want to save people who give you glory. All you care about is the next beer and the next hook up. You should leave without Sam. He’ll be the next one you kill. You never want him either, do you? You never wanted me and I’m dead. Soon it will be Sammy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Deanna,” she hears a recognizable voice that shouldn’t be there, in the parking lot. “Deanna, it’s a dream.” She looks up to see Cas. He holds out his hand and she takes it.</em>
</p><p>She wakes up gasping for breath. Cas is sat beside her watching a weather report on the grainy tv. “You were having a nightmare.”</p><p>“No shit,” she murmurs, rubbing at her head. Her body feels stiff, like she had taken a few rounds against demon stunt double number #3. She gets up and feels her knees crick. She stands in front of the bathroom and takes a deep breath before looking inside. It’s pristine, probably cleaner than when she arrives. It was as if nothing had happened. For a second, she wondered if the whole thing was a nightmare, and that she was still pregnant.</p><p>“It is safe,” Cas says, getting up from the bed and standing behind her. She turns around and sees him holding a little blue tin, the type businesses kept petty cash in. She touches the smooth and cold metal coffin Cas has no doubt stolen from the motel to place her miscarriage in.</p><p>“Thank you. Can I?” she asks with a choke.</p><p>“I don't think so,” She nods, she trusts his judgement. “Sam brought some supplies. Some pie and some,” he walks over to the table and carefully places down the boxes and picks up a plastic packet of sanitary towels. “pads for menstruation?”</p><p>“I think I’m just going to sleep for a bit,” she sighs. “You don’t have to stay.”</p><p>“You asked me to. I believe it is unsafe and unkind to leave a woman alone when suffering a trauma.”</p><p>“It takes a special kind of dude to stick around when a woman is losing another man’s baby.”</p><p>“I am not a...'dude',” he responds with a head tilt. “I would like to be there when you bury your son.” She knows it’s too small to have a gender, too small to be another but a cluster of cells, but she appreciates him playing along.</p><p>“Not every kid gets an angel at their funeral,” she replies as brightly as she can. She takes the pie from the paper bag and climbs into bed. “Let me show you the wonders of daytime TV. Take off that coat, feel like I’m filing my tax returns.”</p><p>He obliges and removes his coat, fussing to fold it over the chair, and gets into bed beside her.</p><p>The next day she gets up and showers away any reminiscent of the tragedy. She’s still bleeding but her body no longer hurts. She dresses quickly, for the first time not wondering if maternity clothing existed that didn’t look like you were about to drive off with Charlie Manson. They drive to a quiet piece of nowhere with another grass to dig a little hole.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I couldn’t have given you the life you deserved,” she says, kneeling in front of the mound of dirt she had just dug. “I couldn’t have been a good mother to you. You deserved more. I’m fucking sorry. If I could do it all over again, I would, believe me.”</p><p>She stands up straight and turns to look at Cas. She squeezes his shoulder before she gets into her car. She’ll never talk about what happened those days ever again. She’ll think about him all the time. She’ll see his face in every kid she’ll ever meet. She’ll dream about him. She’ll sometimes let her mind drift away in the shower to the toddler she would have had. Cas never forgets, she sees it in his eyes.</p>
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